


Babble

by gen_is_gone



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, Gen, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gen_is_gone/pseuds/gen_is_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles I set for myself as a challenge, specific to the Eleventh Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Girl

She’s wandering the infinite labyrinth of corridors, trying to get her bearings. The further into the TARDIS Clara goes, the less uniform the hallways become, leaving the stark bluish metal behind in favor first of warm lighting and peach-colored walls, then a strange off-white, the walls inlaid with large circles in what felt oddly like an in-joke she was missing. It isn’t until she’s explored for quite a while that she stumbles across the first bedroom, quite by accident. The bedrooms keep appearing, one after the other, oddly haunting and empty, and she realizes the TARDIS is trying to tell her something.


	2. Yes, But What Are You Running From?

The three of them are running again. This is so typical Rory’s all but forgotten the days when he used to be alarmed at their lifestyle, and now he knows instinctively to grab Amy’s hand on command. Unfortunately, the Doctor’s up and legged it in the opposite direction this time, so Rory and Amy are now totally lost, dashing down narrow stone corridors fast enough to break an ankle should one of them stumble. He wonders sometimes when running became the default, as though stillness was the thing they feared, the very thing the Doctor and Amy fled so rapidly.


	3. Not Enough to Frighten You, But More Than Enough To Shock You

“Who’s Amelia Pond?” Clara asks one day. She had been in the wardrobe room trying replace the latest ruined dress and had found a child’s overcoat with the name in biro on its tag. The Doctor looks up rapidly from the console, expression shutting down so fast she can almost see the deadbolts slamming into place. “What? I…no one,” he says simply. “She was no one.” He opens his mouth and closes it again, hesitates. “She was a…friend. Who died.” Clara looks at him. “How many have there been? Friends who’ve died, I mean?” she asks. The Doctor doesn’t answer.


End file.
